


He Will Not Leave Me Behind

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Merlin is mortally wounded and Arthur struggles to accept the fact that he may lose the one person he cares about more than anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Will Not Leave Me Behind

It was the most agonizing night of his life.

This, Arthur was certain of without a doubt. It was worse than night before his first tournament. It was worse than the night before his coming-of-age celebration. It was worse than the night of breaking the druid boy out of Camelot. It was worse than the night he fought the dragon. It was worse than the night his father was dealt a mortal blow, and it was worse than the night his father died. It was even worse than the night of his coronation as king. 

All of those things combined could never have prepared him for the emotional turmoil he was facing. 

It started like this:

There was another beast plaguing Camelot in the lower town, killing people ravenously during the highest peaks of the moon. It was an ugly creature, the size of likely the Questing Beast, a big ugly head and a long snout with tusks jutting out of it. It was of magic, of course, and as always with such things, he was told that only _magic_ could destroy it. Of course, that theory always seemed to be shot down whenever they actually went up against the creature, when they alone could kill it.

(Though, while he feigned ignorance, he knew exactly why it always worked. Gaius was never wrong about such things, and he wasn't this time, either. He'd known for _months_ that Merlin was a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that. It didn't stop him from being hopelessly indiscreet, and it was a miracle Arthur hadn't found out sooner. He wondered vaguely when Merlin would tell him, hopefully soon, or maybe he could catch him in the act. Then again, that would probably terrify him, and he wouldn't have a chance to explain that he was okay with it, he already knew. How should he go about it when he did tell him, he wondered. Should he act surprised or say he knew? A question to be answered later, he decided finally.) 

Either way, Arthur took his knights, and Merlin, who insisted on coming along, out to the forest where the villagers had seen it retreating at dusk. Now that Arthur looked back on it, he should've made him stay, should've locked him up if necessary, but then again, he knew Merlin would've found his way to him eventually. He figured that the combined force of his knights and himself would be able to get rid of the beast in record time, and all would be well.

He was very, very, very wrong. 

The beast was mostly impervious to any of their strikes. Arthur's sword, on the other hand, did a pretty good job of cutting at it, though that only seemed to make it angry. The knights' weapons practically bounced off, only enraging the creature further as it charged at them. Arthur called out, and his knights dodged it easy, as did Arthur. The creature roared, and spun again, this time towards Arthur himself, but in a split second, he heard a voice call out to him. 

“Arthur!”

Arthur felt himself being shoved to the side, and he glanced over just in time to see Merlin looking for a split second relieved, before turning to the beast and realizing his mistake (not a mistake, never a mistake, he could hear Merlin telling him, somehow.)

The beast dove for Merlin, now in the line of fire and Arthur watched helplessly as one of its tusks burrowed itself deep into Merlin's stomach, blood instantaneously pouring out, staining his shirt. Merlin didn't even have a chance to scream, opening his mouth to do so before blood came gushing out, dribbling down his chin. The creature flung him, and he crumpled against a tree, a labored breath escaping his lips. His eyes were wide, confused, and he set a hand on the wound, only to finally _(finally)_ cry out at even the most gentle contact. 

Arthur couldn't think. He saw red. All he could think was that this disgusting, horrible, no good creature had just killed ( _not killed, wounded,_ he reminded himself. _Not killed. Yet)_ , his best friend, and he picked up his sword and screamed. He heard a vague voice in the back of his mind, Gaius telling him the creature's heart was on its left, not its right, and that's where he aimed. The beast erupted in another shrill cry, taking off towards him, but in one swift movement, he plunged the weapon deep into the left side, crimson liquid draining down his blade.

He didn't even watch it die, didn't care to. He stuck the sword into the ground and raced to the tree where Merlin lay, not surprised to see Gwaine and Lancelot already kneeling beside him, Lancelot talking to him softly, touching him gently on the shoulder with Gwaine squeezing his hand, while Percival seem to be pressing his cloak to Merlin's wound to stop the bleeding. 

Arthur's mouth felt dry, and he knelt down in front of him, Merlin's eyes were unfocused, his breathing erratic at best. Lancelot looked to him, and Arthur swallowed, not taking his eyes away from his manservant.

“How is he?” he dared ask, and Lancelot shook his head.

“Not well. I'm no physician, but he's losing a lot of blood. We must get him back to Gaius.” 

Arthur gave a curt nod, and Percival removed his cloak only to shift it underneath the smaller man, tying it tightly around his middle. He glanced up at Arthur, and eased away, while Arthur moved in and tentatively reached out.

Lancelot shifted, as did Gwaine, and Arthur raised Merlin up steadily, wincing as Merlin let out a quiet whine, carefully holding him to where the wound was left untouched. He glanced at the horses, then towards the castle that was still clearly visible atop the trees, and then back to his knights.

“It'll be easier for him on foot,” Arthur said firmly, willing his voice not to break as he shifted Merlin's weight. _Not that he was heavy_ , he thought inwardly. Instead, it felt like Merlin was much too _light_. He hoped sincerely it was just either his imagination, or the lack of blood. “We'll walk back. Bring the horses.”

No one protested, and if they had one, no one voiced it. They knew better than to stand between their king and his servant, a relationship far deeper than any rift, canyon, or lake. The knights simply nodded their heads, and went to follow his orders. 

When they wandered back through Camelot, the sun long gone and the moon lighting their way, anyone who happened to pass them by didn't say a word. The guards said nothing as they entered the city, the stable boys said nothing as they took the horses, when they entered the castle, the servants bowed their heads and fled from sight, thinking the worst, idle gossip inevitably spreading like wild fire. _The king's servant is dead. No, he's wounded. He'll be dead by morning from the looks of that wound. The king will be crushed._

He was still breathing (just barely) when they arrived at Gaius' chambers, bursting right in with a kick of his foot. There wasn't a _Merlin has been hurt_ or _Merlin is dying_ , it was just, “Where do I put him?” to which Gaius waved his hand, pointing at the tiny bedroom Merlin called his own. Knights flooded in after him, sullen and long-faced, waiting patiently outside of Merlin's room as Gaius clambered in. 

Arthur eased him down gently onto the bed, carefully unwrapping the cloak from around his stomach, a soft groan escaping the boy. Gaius pushed the soiled shirt up, applying a wet cloth to the wound to clean it up. Arthur sucked in a breath, hoping that it only looked bad, and once the blood was cleaned up, it would be easy to heal. 

The memory of Merlin being skewered then thrown like a rag doll flashed in his head, and his rational mind knew it was just wishful thinking. 

Gaius left the room for a moment and returned with a basket full of things, shooing Arthur from the room. He didn't want to leave, but knew that the room had a limited amount of space and, he wasn't so selfish as to want to be there if it wouldn't benefit the patient. He gave a short nod, and left the room, taking a deep breath as he looked at the weary faces of his remaining knights, looking at him for an update on his condition.

“Gaius is seeing to him now,” said Arthur, eventually. “He didn't tell me much. We can...only hope.” 

Lancelot gave him a tired smile, gripping his shoulder tightly. “He'll pull through, Arthur. Merlin won't give up that easily.” 

Arthur could only hope he was telling the truth. 

For what seemed like hours (maybe it was) they waited, Gwaine idly pacing back and forth, Arthur leaning against the door, Lancelot patiently unmoving, mouth drawn into a thin line, and he had no doubt that Percival, Elyan, and Leon were just as patiently waiting outside the door. The air was thick with tension and Arthur seemed to be repeating Lancelot's earlier words _he'll pull through_ like a mantra over and over in his mind when Gaius finally stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly. 

Everyone looked up, anticipation rising as all eyes turned their attention to the physician. Gwaine cleared his throat. “How is he?” he asked, before Arthur could. 

Gaius looked grave. Arthur felt his heart pounding in his ears. “I'm afraid it's too soon to say. I've done all I can for right now. I fear it may be too late. I've managed to stitch the wound and bind it, but he certainly lost a great deal of blood. We'll have to wait and see if he survives through the night.”

“What do you mean _if?_ ” Arthur hissed, clenching his fists together, a pool of rage suddenly bursting inside of him. “ _If_ he survives? There must be _something_ you can do for him, something that will ensure his survival!”

“Sire, please,” Gaius said, his voice weary, broken. “Merlin is like a son to me. I have done _everything_ in my power to ensure that he lives. I can only do so much, Arthur. The rest is up to fate.” 

“Then damn fate!” he retaliated, without even thinking. “I'll not lose him, Gaius. Not him.” 

The desperation in his voice surprised him, and he swallowed a lump that was quickly forming in his throat. The old man closed his eyes and nodded slowly. 

“Then let us pray for the best. But sire, it might be best to--” 

Knowing what he would say, Arthur held up a hand. “No. I'm not saying goodbye. He will not die,” he said, choking out the last word with as much certainty as he could muster. “He will not die.” 

Gaius said nothing, but bowed his head, as if pitying him and his naïve notions. There was silence then, before Gwaine made for the room. Arthur reached out and grabbed him by the arm, but the knight shook him off, whirling on him with an expression that threw Arthur off. 

“Listen, princess. You may have deluded yourself into believing that he'll be alright, and while I want that to be true, we both know that tonight is going to be a struggle for him. I want to say my goodbyes. I want to know that if something happens, Gods forbid it, I said all I had to say to him before he goes. If you don't want to, that's fine, but at least let the rest of us pay our respects,” Gwaine spat lowly, voice darker than Arthur had ever heard it. He turned away and trudged towards the door to Merlin's room, and shut the door, albeit softly.

Arthur clenched his fists, gritting his teeth together as the words sank into him. He wasn't _delusional_. Just because he refused to say goodbye to someone who most _certainly_ wouldn't die (would he?) didn't make him delusional. Lancelot coughed lightly, and Arthur's eyes snapped over to him, scowl still firmly put on his face. Lancelot wasn't fazed by it, however.

“Sire, it's late. We are all tired, and likely to be irritable with one another. Merlin is a friend to us all, and none of us would see him harmed if we could help it, but standing here all night will not improve him in the slightest. He would not want to see you tiring yourself out over him,” he said evenly, voice infuriatingly calm for the situation. He put another reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

Arthur just shook his head. “It should've been me,” his voice came out hoarse. “It should be me fighting for my life, not him.” 

“Arthur,” Lancelot's voice rose, sharper now. “It is not your fault. Merlin knew what he was doing. He wanted to protect you, just as he has always done. I know that he does not blame you for what has come to pass. In fact, I'm certain, if necessary, he would do it again.”

“That's not the point!” the king swatted his hand away from him and stepped back. “I didn't _ask_ him to do this, I didn't ask for him to be so _stupidly_ loyal! I don't want him to _risk_ his life for me, I want him to _live_ for me. You don't understand, Lancelot, do you hear me? _I can't lose him._ " 

Despite the shock the words caused Arthur himself, his knight didn't seem to be surprised at all. He merely sighed, but nodded, looking him straight in the eye. “And Merlin would not bear to even risk losing you.”

He hated hearing the words, but he knew that deep down, he was right. He took in a sharp breath and grit his teeth together harder, knuckles turning white from the pressure he was applying. 

Before he could speak again, Gwaine exited the room, closing the door just as quietly as he had before. Gaius had taken to not saying anything about Arthur and Lancelot's conversation, or even showing that he had heard it. Gwaine gave a meaningful look to Lancelot, who nodded, then walked past Arthur without a word. 

The knight simply approached the room, leaving Arthur standing there, watching him almost longingly as he trotted up to the room and entered. He waited patiently as Lancelot took his turn to “talk” to Merlin, (because it certainly shouldn't be _goodbye_ ) and much quicker than Gwaine had, Lancelot exited, taking a deep breath before approaching Gaius. 

“You'll send word if there's any change?”

“You know I will,” the old man replied, then glanced to Arthur. 

Arthur didn't say anything as he walked past them and up into Merlin's room. 

When he entered and closed the door, he felt a weight on his chest that he hadn't noticed before. He leaned against the wood, eyes straying to Merlin's sleeping (unconscious?) form, wincing with each strained breath he took in. His face was pale, far paler than usual, but at least his soiled shirt was no longer on him, instead replaced by his white nightshirt. Next to the bed on the left, there was a chair, presumably put there by Gaius earlier, or Gwaine, or someone (maybe it was there already?) and he sat in it. 

He stared at Merlin for a long time, eyes watching him for any sign of getting better. Of course, he knew that he wouldn't see changes in his condition until, at earliest, tomorrow, but a man could have his hopes, could he not? He wasn't entirely sure how long he sat there, but eventually Gaius knocked quietly, and Arthur finally looked up as he entered.

“You should get some rest, sire. I'll be sure to inform you straight away if his condition changes.”

The king almost got up, almost said yes, and left the room, but he risked one last glance at his servant, and felt a pang in his chest. He didn't want to leave him. He knew that if it were he, lying there, Merlin would be at his side every second, and if Merlin could do it, Arthur damn well could too. 

“I want to...stay here,” he said, eventually. “I'll stay here with him, tonight.” 

The physician gave him a sympathetic look, but pat him on the shoulder, which Arthur assumed meant “all right”. Gaius knew better than to argue with him, anyway. He wouldn't win, unless Arthur staying would be detrimental to Merlin's health, which Arthur knew it wouldn't be. Instead, Gaius left for a moment and returned with a blanket, setting it on the edge of Merlin's bed, just in case, he said.

He thanked him softly, and Gaius left the room, closing the door behind him. The candlelight on Merlin's bedside flickered idly, and Arthur carefully took Merlin's cold hand and enveloped it with both of his own, trying vainly to put some warmth into it. 

On impulse, he gave Merlin's fingers a gentle kiss, letting out another shaky breath as he did so. He rested his head on his enclosed hands, gripping his servant's hand tightly. 

“Damn you...” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “You're not allowed to die, do you hear me? Not allowed. I'll make it a royal decree if I have to.” 

Merlin didn't stir. He didn't expect him to. 

“You know I will,” he continued, trying to joke. “'I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, do royally decree that Merlin, manservant to the king, must not die unless I give my expressed permission.' I just need to put that into writing.” 

The humor in his tone vanished as Merlin made a noise that most definitely wasn't pleasant. He let out another uneven breath, hands still enclosed over Merlin's. 

“You can't die, it mustn't be you,” Arthur whispered now, as if speaking it would make it true. “I have lost everyone I...I care for. You can't be next, Merlin. You can't be.”

He shook his head, releasing his hand only to run tentative fingers along his pale face. The king almost surprised himself by how intimate he was being, but deep down, he knew that _this_ , the touching, the gentle caresses, stolen kisses—it's what he'd always wanted. What he'd always wanted that he'd never done before.

_You may never get to again_ , a voice said quietly in his mind, and he choked down a sob. 

“No,” murmured Arthur, resting his hand on his cheek. “You cannot die because...because there is so much I need to tell you. That I _will_ tell you. That _you_ need to tell me.”

He moved his hand, idly grabbing his fingers and stroking them gently. “Did you think I'd never find out?” he whispered, leaning back in the chair. “Did you think that I would remain ignorant until you told me?” A horrible thought struck him then, and he tightened his grip once more. “Why didn't you use magic tonight? Why were you so foolish? You could've saved us all from the beginning. Could've...enchanted our weapons, done something, make us believe that we'd actually done it ourselves. It would have been so easy, yet...you had to play the hero. Why don't you ever _think_ , Merlin?” 

Arthur paused, then, before saying softly, “I'm okay with it. I swear to you, I am. I understand why you couldn't tell me, and I wish it wasn't so, but I do. I understand that you had to hide yourself. But, I am not my father, Merlin. Did you really think the knights would let any harm come to you? That _I_ would let any harm come to you? I know that all you have done is for Camelot, and for me...and I'm not angry. I never was.” 

The confession itself seemed to lift a bit of the weight that was bearing down on Arthur's chest, but it didn't subside his pain in the slightest. Instead, he stopped talking altogether and watched the rise and fall of Merlin's chest, just to convince himself that he was still alive, and still breathing. _Still with me_ , he added as an after thought. 

The night wore on, and though Arthur grew tired, every bone in his body aching and weary, he knew he wouldn't sleep. His mind was too occupied, still too worried to even think about sleeping. Merlin didn't stir at all in the time, and every now and again, Arthur checked his pulse to make sure, just make sure it was still there, no matter how weak (and it was weak.) 

The king didn't know what hit him when it turned very late, and somehow, any hope he had seemed lost. The breaths Merlin took seemed even more shallow than before, pulse weaker and weaker with each passing hour. He was losing him, losing Merlin, _his_ Merlin, and the thought of not waking up every morning to silly phrases, ebony hair and bright blue eyes, to dorky smiles and gangly limbs, sent a jolt of panic through him. The thought of being _without_ him tore him up inside.

“Stay with me,” he choked out, barely registering how tears formed in his eyes, threatening to fall. “Please don't leave me behind.”

Arthur waited several moments, each one feeling like an eternity before he stood up, deciding that he should grab the spare blanket to drape over him and stretch his legs a bit. He eased the chair back as quietly as possible, before he turned, and started towards another corner of the room when he heard a soft groan from behind him, but barely had time to register it before a very weak touch caught his forearm.

He spun, a tear finally managing to slip from his eye and stream down his cheek. He saw blue eyes staring back at him, looking confused, and in pain, but _alive_. Merlin was awake. Gods, _Merlin was awake_. 

The servant didn't speak, still taking in strained breaths, but staring at him as if he were the most beautiful thing to grace the earth. Arthur looked at him likewise. He barely believed his own words as he whispered quietly,

“You're alive...”

It was faint, but Merlin nodded, letting his slender fingers trail down Arthur's arm, and into his hand, which he held onto as tightly as he could in his state. Arthur quickly sat down, and Merlin tilted his head to face him. Arthur felt so much relief coursing through him all at once, and uncaring of how Merlin would react, kissed his fingers, one at a time, then reached a hand up to smooth his hair down. He let out a choked laugh, startling both of them, watching as Merlin's face looked confused. Arthur smiled. 

“You're alive. Don't you ever,” he began, voice containing no threat whatsoever. “Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again. You will not leave me behind, promise me, Merlin. Promise me.”

Merlin didn't make a sound for a long time, and Arthur didn't expect him to, just content with the fact that Merlin was awake and alive and breathing and _oh Gods he could kiss him_ \--

He noticed a movement, and Merlin was nodding slowly, before he took in a deep breath, and Arthur watched him wince as he did so. But he opened his mouth, and words came out. 

“I...promise.” 

His voice was just as weak as his pulse, and strained, but Merlin smiled at him, full of warmth and dare he say it, love. Arthur should've scolded him for speaking before he was ready, but he couldn't even think as he laughed, actually _laughed_ , relief spreading through him and rushing through his veins to every inch of him. But then, a certain tiredness washed over him. His eyelids drooped against his will, as if his body just decided it wanted to shut down now, and he felt shaky fingers pat his cheek. With great difficulty, Merlin had shifted onto his side, and was now caressing his cheek, before Arthur gently pushed him back down.

“Rest,” he said evenly, tucking the hand he held under the covers. “I'll be here in the morning.” 

Merlin seemed content with that, and smiling just as he had earlier, he closed his eyes again. For a panicked moment, he thought Merlin might have just come back to wish him goodbye, give him some sense of comfort, but rested easy as he discovered that Merlin was just asleep again. His breathing, though still strained, was very, very much there.

The sound of it as his lullaby, Arthur rested his head on the edge of his bed, and slept. 

(At dawn, Gaius came to check if there was any change in Merlin's health, and found a sleeping king still at his bedside. Merlin was still breathing, which was, on its own, a good sign, and deciding he could leave Merlin asleep for a while longer, he draped the spare blanket over Arthur's shoulders, and shut the door quietly behind him, the first smile he'd had since yesterday painting his lips.)


End file.
